


Enemy Mine

by CatelynMay, zaboraviti



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV), Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Crossover, F/M, Love/Hate, Soulmates, Vicbourne through time and space, kinda vignette but not exactly, maybe finished maybe not, not Albert friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatelynMay/pseuds/CatelynMay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaboraviti/pseuds/zaboraviti
Summary: Victoria barely contained the nervous shiver wracking her body as she stood in front of the swarm of reporters whose cameras were clicking incessantly, eager to capture thehappy momentof the heiress to the British throne taking the crown.Victoria II, that is who she was, the queen of once great nation that now lay in ruins trying to heal its wounds, a queen without power.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Враг мой](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/343680) by Catelyn M. 



> i added Melbourne/Victoria ship tag so that more people would read it. even if technically there's only a fleeting mention of Vicbourne, my heart says it's Vicbourne through time and space. i hope you don't mind.

[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

_1964_

Victoria barely contained the nervous shiver wracking her body as she stood in front of the swarm of reporters whose cameras were clicking incessantly, eager to capture the _happy moment_ of the heiress to the British throne taking the crown.

Victoria II, that is who she was, the queen of once great nation that now lay in ruins trying to heal its wounds, a queen without power.

The long hairy limbs of the gigantic tarantula that was the Reich snatched one country after another, establishing its authority everywhere, delivering verdicts, administering punishments, enforcing its laws and regulations. Who could dispute victor’s justice?

Only a day before she had been but an ordinary girl, trying to carry on, like all the others, in spite of the terrible reality. She would go to the movies, dance to the rhythms of the new band from Liverpool, buy fashion magazines and tie playful bright scarves around her neck. Once she had her hair cut short and had to hide from her mother and Lehzen for a long time.

Her uncle, King William, under whom the peaceful occupation of England had occurred, broke down, worn out by many years of stress, and hastily abdicated in favor of the young Victoria. He found his peace on one of the remote Micronesian islands that had been handed over into his possession for free under the agreement between the Japanese administration and the Reich. No one knew for certain what exactly the king had done for Berlin to earn it.

Now she, Victoria, was to play the puppet sovereign in the hands of the conquerors who sought to use the British throne as a veil disguising their expansion.

Victoria swallowed nervously, trying to hold herself as confident as possible. He would be here any moment now, her enemy, the tall scary man in black with inscrutable hard gaze who had been introduced to her that morning as Oberst-Gruppenführer John Smith.

His were the hands holding her half-wrecked country, a new province of the new German Empire. She had to look cordial and grateful to the Greater Reich for the chance to preserve the centuries-old British traditions, to survive under the heel of the Nazi ideology.

For a moment, she felt the hardwood floor shift under her feet and the small tiara that had taken so much effort to be fixed on her head squeezed her temples like an instrument of torture.

The doors of the conference hall swung open, letting in the man who had just been on her mind. Sharp, hard features and the black uniform made him look like an ominous bird of prey that could attack any moment and tear its adversary to pieces.

Then everything around her exploded in a commotion. The reporters were trying to move closer, shouting out their questions only to be pushed back by implacable uniforms.

“Have you memorized the speech I prepared for you?” he rasped in a whisper, coming to stand next to her.

Victoria felt a shiver running down her spine; being in close proximity to this man never failed to upend her, mixing her emotions into an explosive jumble of fear, rage and curiosity.

“Did I have a choice?”

“I don’t like it when people answer my questions with questions. Have you memorized it or have you not?” his voice took on a menacing tone.

She nodded, the urge to spit more acid words into his face so strong that she had to set her teeth tight and barely stopped herself before it was too late.

“It is an incontestable benefit for the British nation to become a part of the Greater Reich. We shall follow the ideas of the Führer and uphold his authority over our land. We are grateful to Germany for the opportunity to remain the pillar of virtue and our centuries-old traditions,” she said loudly and smoothly but her voice lacked the emotion that the author of this message evidently had expected from her.

“Sieg Heil!” thundered the well-rehearsed response.

She turned her head and met the burning stare of the dragon eyes. His mouth was set into a hard thin line. He was clearly displeased but he could hardly accuse her of not having complied with his conditions.

Victoria thought, not without gloating, that she had managed to unsettle him if only for a moment and the thought immediately made her feel ill at ease.

After the press conference, Smith looked as he usually did. But when everyone else left the hall, he came up to her, leaned to her ear, his breath searing her skin, and said curtly, “Submission is not among your virtues. But you will have to learn it.”

Leaving her dismayed and confused, he stepped out of the room. The Queen stared at the window, trying to still her heart that pounded somewhere in her throat.

Breathless, she reached her bedroom in the only surviving wing of the Buckingham Palace. Lehzen, her former governess and now the Minister Administrator of the palace appointed by the new government, hurried to her side as she always had done, eyeing her frightened and bewildered ward.

“Are you upset with something, Majesty? I think the conference went well.”

“Oh, Lehzen. Don’t call me that. Let me be Victoria, at least when we are alone.”

“So what is wrong, Victoria?” the older woman sat down next to the Queen, who had gathered up the hem of her long dress and curled up on the sofa. She had been doing that ever since she was a small girl when something bothered or unsettled her.

“That man, Lehzen, that man…”

“Are you talking about the new prefect?”

“Yes, yes, John Smith,” she cringed.

“But he was quite polite and respectful during the press conference — he even tried to smile.”

“Oh, I hate him so much, I hate them all!”

“Good Lord, stop it right now, someone might hear you!” Lezhen cried out in fear.

“I don’t care, I don’t want to be his doll number… whatever! This imperial steward can wear the crown and the mantle himself! It would be more honest than this circus performance for the subjects!”

Lehzen watched her Victoria in amazement, wondering why this long-planned and carefully thought-out business meeting with the Oberst-Gruppenführer had caused such turbulent emotions. 

Were her angry words sincere or was she only trying to convince herself? Victoria had known for a long time that as a head of state she would never have even an illusion of power, that her coronation was nothing more than a farce and she would have to obey the Nazi administration without question.

“You do know that we are not in a position to expect more than the roles we have been allowed. History has made it so and it is not in our power to change what has transpired.”

But the young queen seemed oblivious to her admonitions, clutching the cushion to her chest, trying to compose herself.

“I wish to be alone,” she said finally. Lezhen sighed and hurried out of the room.

Victoria could not describe or explain the feelings tearing her apart. Every fiber of her being ought to be revolting against the control imposed on her, she ought to feel fury and outrage, she ought to…

Instead, she could still hear the low growling voice dripping with menace and… something else, something dark and mesmerizing that made her heart quiver in a way she did not understand.

On an impulse, the young queen sprung from the sofa and walked to the wall, glancing up at the portrait of her famous great-grandmother Victoria I — the dignified posture, the imperious gaze of the cerulean eyes…

“You were luckier,” her chuckle was bitter. “You had your wise and kind Lord M standing behind your back, not a satrap in the Nazi uniform.”

Yet she could not help the thinking that the studying, penetrating stare of the amber green eyes, the power of which she had felt earlier that day, was somehow familiar to her.

 

\------------------

 

John Smith lit another cigarette, the familiar heat enveloping his lungs, and sat back in his massive chair. The dusk was falling on the city outside the windows of his study, drowning the grey somber building of the Reich’s stronghold in London.

He could not sleep that night and was going to spend at least two more hours in this room to sort out his troubling and so inappropriate thoughts.

New York was far behind, and so was his house, his home that used to be his shelter and personal heaven, the perfect little world that he and Helen had built together. The painful memories stabbed at his heart. The death of their dear son had destroyed their family and raised a wall of misunderstanding between him and his wife. He had failed to save his boy from the very thing that was hammered into the heads of the younger generations from childhood. If only he had known, if only he had… His transfer to London as a prefect was a lifesaver, since he could no longer bear Helen’s despair, her accusatory glare and perpetual silence. All things must come to an end, even those that seem everlasting. 

But it was not just the painful memories that kept the Oberst-Gruppenführer up in the middle of the night, making him smoke one cigarette after another.

This new queen, this girl, so cheeky and so surprisingly bright, with the piercing gaze of sky-blue eyes, haunted his mind. He had long thought that he was above such foibles, that his mission was to serve faithfully to the cause of the Reich and the Führer, but he had to admit now that he had been mistaken.

John closed his eyes, imagining for a second that Victoria was there, in his study, and drew in a shuddering breath in an attempt to tame the heady, overwhelming desire to feel her skin, to taste her lips, to hear her moan and gasp in his arms.

The vision became almost unbearable and he angrily threw his glass half full of whiskey at the wall, watching it explode into tinkling sparkling shards — in perfect harmony with his long-nurtured restraint.

 

\------------------------

 

The Queen was trying to hypnotize the clock whose hand with indifferent deliberation ticked off the minutes to her obligatory daily meeting with the Oberst-Gruppenführer. With the man who shaped the fate of her nation on behalf of the Reich.

Leaving the clock alone, she stepped to the mirror, readjusting yet again the rebellious strand of brown hair that kept falling out of place, smoothing down her ashes of roses gown — she thought she looked extremely elegant in it, so much like that slender big-eyed girl on the cover of the fashion magazine.

Not that he would notice. What did it matter? Smith always looked at her in the same distant and cold manner, dutifully laying out his plans and giving his orders — dressed in the polite impersonal form of official proposals as they were. He had been like this with her since the post-coronation speech delivered by her with the affection of a PA system at a train station, making it clear that her insolent stunt would not go unpunished

Victoria let out a heavy sigh, knowing that all her rebellious plans that she intended to set in motion when she first met this harsh impenetrable man had long disappeared, replaced by the compulsive desire to be noticed.

Every time the door closed behind him, she threw off yet another cute outfit, burning with anger and despair, promising not to be such an idiot ever again. And for the life of her she could not explain this urge to seek approval and affection of the man she still considered her enemy.

Meanwhile, the palace was swept by the dizzying changes initiated by Lehzen. The kitchen now produced only dishes of German cuisine, latest German editions of the Führer’s classic works arrived by mail, and everybody at court had to wear the black uniform. These innovations, according to Victoria’s former governess, were motivated by the necessity to follow the Zeitgeist and emphasize the solidarity between the British Crown and the Reich. Even the Queen’s beloved spaniel could not escape the ever-vigilant eye of the Minister Administrator. His custom-made tiny black cap and vest entertained everyone who saw the little Dash pattering at mistress’s heels in his new ensemble. London newspapers that were now packed with propaganda were spewing giddy headlines.

ROYAL HOUSEHOLD DEMONSTRATES LOYALTY TO THE REICH!

QUEEN’S SPANIEL PROUDLY WEARS HIS UNIFORM!

WELCOME TO THE REICH, DASH!

Sometimes, Victoria felt as if she was in the theater of the absurd and nothing could be done about it. The worst thing was that her relatives, at the suggestion from Berlin, were spreading rumors about her upcoming nuptials with a member of the German House of Coburg, intending to erase the Queen’s English roots and with it the English identity.

“Soon there will be nothing British left in Britain, not even a king,” Victoria thought sadly, looking through another article that praised the great achievements of the Reich.

Who could offer her advice, who could help her save at least the little bit of her nation, of her country that remained? Enemies were all around her, even those she loved and trusted, like Lehzen, those she had always relied on, betrayed her. Thinking that, Victoria choked with tears of powerlessness and despair.

He showed up precisely at ten, well-groomed, clean-shaven and creepily charming as always in his solid black uniform coat with the insignia in the buttonhole, his black boots polished to a shine.

Smith sat in a massive chair across her like he owned the place, his arms on the armrests, his legs crossed, his watchful green eyes fixed on her. _Like a king_ , Victoria thought against her will. _If there were a throne here, he would sit on it without hesitation_.

“Have you been crying?” he suddenly asked, noticing her red-rimmed eyes.

The question caught her by surprise. He had never showed any interest in her well-being.

“I have not. You are imagining things,“ she said without thinking.

“Why are you lying?”

“I am not a liar.”

“I’m never wrong in my observations.”

“Think what you like then.”

“You misunderstand me. If something upsets you, I need to be the first to know. The people should not see their queen tear-stained and depressed, this is no good to any of us.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“What is it that I wouldn’t understand?”

“What I feel when I think about Britain turning into a German province, with no culture, no traditions or language of its own. We are half way there already, and the marriage that Berlin is forcing on me will only accelerate the fall of the British Crown. And I… I am helpless! My ancestors defended the interests of the nation for centuries, building its foundations, while I am only a shadow, not a real queen, just a cardboard figure! I am nothing, a waste of space…” Victoria lost her remaining composure and burst out crying again.

He pulled a snow-white handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Now, wipe away your tears and listen to me carefully. That’s better,” he added after a brief pause, once she collected herself a little. “You are anything but a waste of space and it is in your power to protect your country from the total control of Berlin without entering a direct confrontation.”

“Surely I can’t do that?”

“ _We_ can, together,” Smith said, watching her reaction.

She was stunned into speechlessness.

“Your behavior at the press conference after your accession was reckless. The leadership of the Reich must see you wholly supporting its authority rather than grinding out labored phrases,” he continued. “Only by lulling their vigilance through proving your loyalty can you preserve the legacy of your nation from complete assimilation. I will persecute and suppress any attempts at weakening the Reich’s power in this land but I am willing to turn a blind eye to certain liberties on the Crown’s part.”

Victoria was still silent, struggling to believe that this man, this unfailing and impeccable executor of the enemy’s will, wished to help her suggesting that she should double-deal.

Victoria looked up, meeting his intent gaze and seeing in it something else besides purely business interest, something she had yet to figure out.

  
“You know, I am not indifferent to the problem of assimilation of the Anglo-Saxon race — they call it the call of the blood,” he said, as if reading the silent question in the wide-open eyes fixed on him. “As a boy, my father crossed the ocean in search of a better future. He managed to survive, to rise and to put down roots in the American soil. I am one hundred percent American, but England is the land of my ancestors…”

  
Smith paused, looking like he was regretting his candor, and went on in his usual manner.

  
“I see many qualities of a true monarch in you but I also see the gaps in your understanding of the current balance of power. Submission is not your strong suit but you must learn to wear it — for the sake of your nation. Think it over and remember that the rulers are wise when people barely know they exist,” finished Oberst-Gruppenführer Smith, rising from his chair.

“I understand,” she said. “I shall learn submission but I shall never be subdued.”

 John smirked in satisfaction at the fire flaring up in her eyes.

“Well… we’ll see,” he drawled, moving towards the door.

 

_1965_

 

The crowd awaiting their queen clamored in excitement outside the window.

Victoria looked in the mirror, and the mirror showed her a beautiful, confident young woman in an elegant dress with a long train, long gloves, with a diamond tiara in her hair and the proud look of the British lioness, as the press now called her. British — not German, and this was the most important of all her achievements in the year that had passed since the day of her coronation. Navigating dexterously between the interests of the Reich and those of her nation, having avoided a marriage to a member of the House of Coburg that Berlin had attempted to force on her, she found a way to save the nation from absolute control and usurpation. Cunning as a fox, the Queen circumvented the most provocative issues and forged all the right connections in the highest circles, concealing her cast-iron will with a delicate voice and polished manners, and rightfully earned the love and respect of her people. But they did not know who was responsible for molding a frightened indecisive girl into a true queen.

She heard the familiar commanding voice behind her.  

“Close your eyes, keep still. There.” Warm fingers traced the bare skin exposed by the low cut in the back of her dress. “You look dazzling today — then again, you always look dazzling.”

She froze, trying to focus on her feelings — like he had always taught her. His kisses on her back, his strangled voice were setting her on fire.

“We should go out to the reporters, they are waiting,” she struggled to find a drop of reason in her mind.

But lightning-fast and uncontrollable, the stinging desire already flooded her veins. And there she was, giving herself into his hands, her eyes still closed, her body feeling keenly his every caress, his every kiss.

She thought that this dark forbidden passion would expire, as does everything that human beings come to know in their lives. Yet, he had only to speak to her or touch her, and it would start all over again.

He suddenly pulled away, as if nothing had happened, and she groaned in disappointment.

“You are right, we should go out,” he pointed out in a businesslike manner.

“You are insufferable, John!”

He held back a contented chuckle. 

“Patience is the virtue of the strong. Always remember that, my sweet queen.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

***

(sorry, video embedding doesn't work in the notes)

***

 and _if you want something visual that's not too abysmal_ , here is a video based on this fic, by [Arizonadreamer](https://lonelusoulofgallifrey.tumblr.com)

 and just for the hell of it, another one, by [Lady Disdain](https://ladydisdainblog.tumblr.com), a crossover between Victoria and Doctor Who, just because i love this video so freakin much and take any excuse to share it and because, well, it's still Rufus and Jenna, so let's pretend a bit :)

 

 upd. Vicbourne community is the best! the freshest fanvideo from [misstheSlayer](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCANKy_4YXh6j9A9rk5jO0pg)

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a flashback to the story that was originally meant to be just a drabble

[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221)

 

_**1964** _

 

Drops of the first summer rain lazily rolled down the windowpane, leaving opaque tracks. The long abandoned palace park was a cheerless sight but the Crown simply had no funds for renovations.

The young Queen of Great Britain stared at the driveway through the glass, hoping to see the familiar black car. The last audience, or rather checkpoint meeting, with Oberst-Gruppenführer Smith had taken place almost a week ago. All she knew was that he had been summoned to Berlin on some urgent business.

 _Rulers are wise when people barely know they exist_. His words still echoed in her mind, solidifying into a credo. She would have to learn patience and submission. She would wear this mask, because it was the only way to protect the interests of her nation, to preserve the little they had left — their spirit, their history, their traditions…

How odd that her unexpected ally and mentor in this challenging task was a man with the black cross around his neck, a man whose duty was to maintain a tight hold on the Reich-occupied territory and subdue any attempts at resistance.

Victoria closed her eyes for a second, her obliging mind showing her his chiseled profile and the commanding look of the green eyes — the moment she saw those eyes she thought it was an almost magical, almost mythical color. Her overactive imagination pictured a fairytale dragon.

Ever since that memorable encounter when he offered her his assistance, the queen couldn’t stop thinking about John Smith’s plans. Were his motives selfless or were they just a veil for a terrible lie designed to compromise her in the eyes of the Party leaders? What if it was only a trick, an excuse to get rid of the powerless queen, this atavism, whose existence was nothing but a tribute to the centuries-old British traditions that would be condemned to oblivion as soon as an opportunity presents itself?

Speculations, each one more terrifying than the last, gnawed at her mid, mixing with inappropriate, criminal daydreams of sitting a new meeting with the prefect. Longing to see him, to hear his deep growling voice, to feel his searching gaze on her skin, she was still ashamed to admit to herself that any thought or mention of him made her breath hitch and her cheeks turn crimson, betraying the swell of her emotions.  _This is impossible, he’s a bloody Nazi, a satrap — the enemy. A man like him can’t be trusted,_  she reminded herself every time it happened but every time, the memory of the way he had been looking at her during that last conversation silenced the voice of reason.

Sometimes thoughts materialize before you can blink. The distinctive rustle of wheels on the pinkish gravel came from the wide driveway, immediately pulling Victoria out of her humorless thoughts. She heard the patter of hurried footsteps in the hall — that couldn’t have been anyone but Lehzen. The queen turned to the sound of the door opening and shot a quizzical look at the Minister Administrator of the palace.

“He has arrived…” Lehzen said as she tried to catch her breath. She saw all manner of emotions flash across her former ward’s face.

A few anxious minutes of fussing in the dressing room in front of the mirror, a new dress in her favorite shade of pink with quite a reckless neckline, a string of small pearls — a last-minute addition, a flustered face and a hundred thousand heartbeats per second…

The sound of every steady, confident step on the floor of the hall echoed inside her like a rolling thunder. Dash got out of his basket, joyfully wagging his tail. “Not you too, little Brutus,” she grimaced.

Victoria grabbed the back of a chair to keep her hands and legs from shaking. The nervous tension was almost unbearable — she felt it would take John Smith just a glance on her face to read all the thoughts and emotions she had been struggling to hide even from herself. The young woman took a deep breath to compose herself. She had to look dignified.  _Dear Lord, don’t let him see how I… missed him…_

The realization hit her hard, making her sick.  _“How can you be such an idiot!”_  she cursed herself but the feelings wouldn’t go away. The man turned her heart into a tangled ball of contradicting emotions — fear and admiration, hatred and a compulsive craving for his approval and attention.

John entered the drawing room through the door opened by an obliging footman and stopped by the doorway. He quickly looked over the slender figure of the young queen by the desk in her candy-cheerful dress and nearly snorted.  _It looks like the girl is trying her charm on me again and she thinks that I’m clueless. Well, let her think that. For now. But damn, this will take a lot of self-control and good judgment!_

His sensitive nose could smell the tension in the air as unmistakable as ozone before a storm. Invisible but palpable currents ran down his body, prickling the skin, saturating the blood in the veins of the ever-restrained stern Oberst-Gruppenführer.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, your majesty. If I may, ma’am…” he headed for his favorite leather armchair, his steps as confident as ever.

 _As if he ever needed my permission…_ Victoria sat in the chair across him.

“How was your trip?” she asked politely, trying not to show how much the sight of the prefect sprawling in his chair like he owned the place excited her.

“Good, thank you,” he paused, his unblinking stare never leaving her face. The queen thought she was about to blush again in the most ridiculous manner.

“How is the preparation for your coronation reception?”

“Excuse me?”

“In case you misheard, I am talking about the glorious British tradition to hold a big reception on the occasion.”

Recovering from the first shock, Victoria tried to think of an apt response to this insolent, presumptuous statement.  _As if he doesn’t know what’s going on in my country._

“You are probably unaware of it, sir, but in the current situation, in view of today’s reality, the Crown cannot afford being wasteful. It would be like a-- a feast in the time--” she stopped short, realizing she was being rather sharp.  _Well, so be it._ The boldness of her words filled her blue eyes with fire, and John couldn’t help noticing it.

 _Well, her little snub-nosed majesty is not as infantile as she seems…_ He’s going to have a tough time dealing with her.

“Plague, you meant to say,” he finished the sentence for her, flicking an invisible fleck of dust off the cap lying on his lap. “That wasn’t nice…” he added, as though talking to himself. “I thought we have agreed that you will be more careful in your… pronouncements and try to demonstrate your allegiance to our regime--”

“But you can’t argue with the truth!” she blurted, trying to quell her fear and insecurity.

“That’s where you’re wrong, ma’am. It is in your best interest and in the interest of your country to make sure this reception goes the best way possible. Let the crème de la crème of the British and European elite see the dire state of the Buckingham Palace, this pillar of the British monarchy, the face of your national culture and tradition for the past hundred and fifty years. If I’m not mistaken, the palace and the park were never restored by your uncle after that memorable bombing of 1952?”

“As you can see. The interior works in the damaged wing are taking forever, and the park… the park was never fully restored,” Victoria looked wistfully out the window.

“Give the order to start the preparations immediately. I think the forthcoming weekend will do.”

Amazed, Victoria glanced at his impenetrable face.

“So soon?!”

“The invitation list is to be on my desk by tomorrow — the day after tomorrow at the very latest. I will make sure that distinguished guests from the Party are present as well. The country is starved for festivities, and people are curious beasts by nature — and they are eager to get to know their new monarch,” John Smith paused and let a semblance of a smile touch his lips before he continued. “Why don’t we take full advantage of the occasion and raise the funds to restore the palace and the park while we’re at it?”

“Perhaps not everyone has funds to begin with…”

“Another delusion. Many people of the upper class in the United Kingdom lined their pockets from wartime speculation, and your country’s military and political defeat by no means ruined them personally. It’s time they were reminded of their duty to the Crown and their nation.”

“Fine, Oberst-Gruppenführer, I shall discuss the details with the Prime Minister and Lehzen and have an invitation list drafted,” she said dryly, accepting his arguments.

There was no need to negotiate with the Parliament — the years of the Nazi occupation had made the MPs quite docile and manageable. The treasury and state budget were already de facto controlled by the new prefect. If he had estimated the expenses and found that the queen could afford a coronation reception, so be it!

“Oh, and my advice to you: your wardrobe requires a drastic revision,” he added suddenly. “If you find it challenging, hire a stylist. Or is this another area in which Britain is hopeless now?”

Blood surged to her cheeks after all as she felt the rebellious spirit rise within her.

“What is wrong with my wardrobe?” it was taking Victoria the last scraps of her self-control not to throw something heavy at him and take the opportunity to brush away her tears of despair. She naively thought that she was familiar with fashion well enough and that the new outfits made her look very modern, stylish and attractive.

“The Queen of Great Britain cannot look like a--” he paused and touched his eyebrow in a meaningful gesture, “a frivolous college girl on her first grown-up party. You are young but your status should dictate a different approach and be the model of good taste for your subjects. Pick something classic, more elegant, more restrained for your reception.”

 _Go to hell, John Smith!_  The reckless thought that flashed in her mind was tempting but she silenced it, forcing out a timid “I… I'll try”.

When the prefect left the room, the queen did not summon Lezhen immediately, choosing to be alone for a while. After some pacing, Victoria walked to the window, still swallowing stubborn tears, just in time to see John Smith, tall and impeccable in his solid black uniform, get into his armored black car. Later she found herself in her dressing room, taking brightly colored trendy dresses off their hangers in some kind of desperate frenzy and throwing them into a heap of pink, canary yellow, playful polka dots and candy stripes in a big box.

 _Something more elegant, more restrained._ She couldn’t get his words out of her head. Victoria never was a gutless pushover willing to change her tastes and habits at someone else’s whim however strong the imposing will might be — not without resistance. However, today, much to her own surprise, after that brief surge of emotions, she felt no desire to resist. After all, there was no sneer or even irony in his remark, it sounded appropriate and fair. And the young queen already could see that the confidence, the energy John Smith exuded and his advice that often sounded like an order were becoming more than habitual and familiar. She was starting to want this. To need this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the flashback continues. don't miss the chapter before this one! ;)

_**1964** _

 

“You majesty, how much longer are you going to stand in front of the mirror? The guests will begin to arrive any time now,” Lezhen’s voice came like a thunderbolt. Yes, time to put the finishing touches to her new image.

When the young queen emerged from her dressing room, she was unrecognizable. Instead of her pretty little darling, a teen coquette dressed in unimaginable colors, the former governess saw a graceful lady of fashion in an evening gown with a modest neckline, a small elegant clutch bag in her hands.

“Harriet Sutherland is really good,” Louise made a mental note to herself. Yes, she saw once again today that she had been right to invite the married daughter of the former home secretary to the palace and introduce her to the new queen. Harriet had a good reputation, she was easy going and, more importantly, knew fashion like the back of her hand. She and Victoria quickly hit it off and it took them just a few days to establish a friendly trust. It was Mrs. Sutherland who took credit for her majesty’s new wardrobe.

Victoria’s hair was made into an elaborate knot, a single thin strand hanging playfully loose, which didn’t disagree with the overall look, only adding to her charm. Even the bright color of her lipstick was an appropriate accent.

“I think I’m ready. I don’t look like a college girl today, do I?” asked the queen, smoothing out the invisible creases on her dress.

“What is this expression, your majesty? Is it American?”

“Louise, I beg you,” the queen interrupted her impatiently.

“All right, my darling. You look like a perfect lady tonight. Your father would be proud. I mean this from the bottom of my heart, and--”

“But all those people will see a girl who knows nothing about politics or life…” Victoria bit her lip nervously, struggling to cope with the rising anxiety.

“Listen to me, your majesty,” Louise took her cold hands and squeezed them slightly to warm them, exactly as she had used to years ago when she had to soothe the little princess. “The reception is going to be perfect, you’ll see. And you know who runs the show now, no one will dare say a word to you or whisper behind you back in the presence of the Oberst-Gruppenführer.”

“Is he already here?” Victoria heard her voice falter and thought how embarrassing it was that even a mention of the all-seeing eye of the Reich affected her.

“Yes, the prefect must be in the reception hall at the moment. And I think your cousin Albert will arrive at the palace any minute now. Accompanied by his father, I suppose. You could use the support of your family tonight, your majesty.”

“Cousin Albert? This is odd… I don’t remember inviting him. I haven’t seen him since we were about ten, I think. He was awfully boring then and I doubt things have changed for the better.”

“I take it you don’t know yet? Hasn’t the prefect told you?”

“About what, Louise?” Victoria asked, unease settling in the pit of her stomach like a stone.

“I think… you’d better ask the Oberst-Gruppenführer about the details,” Lehzen looked away, realizing that she had put her foot in her mouth.

“I won’t move until you tell me what you know about Cousin Albert’s visit,” the young woman’s eye burned with determination. Despite her age and little experience, she was never afraid to show teeth, and her former governess knew it as well as that there was no way out.

“Your Coburg cousin has arrived with a definite purpose… It seems that the leaders of the Reich show interest in your matrimonial plans. German blood, good pedigree, complete loyalty to the Reich… and they don’t like waiting. I believe Albert will open his heart to you and reveal his intentions,” even Lehzen’s sigh sounded defeated.

“This is absurd! I know that their mad Führer is dying to see the Queen of Great Britain walk down the aisle with a third-rate German prince. Like hell! I am not a brood mare! I am not going to dance to the Nazis’ tune in matters such as my own marriage! And I have never thought of my cousin as husband material!”

“Hush, your majesty! For God’s sake, be quiet! I am risking my life as it is by telling you this… Please be reasonable, don’t act rashly. Not only is this in your own best interest but in the interest of your country as well, and your mistakes could affect its wellbeing.”

“He knew all along, didn’t he, Louise?! He received his instructions in Berlin, convinced me that this reception was necessary, and it was all just to arrange my engagement as soon as possible!” Victoria raged, oblivious to everything and everyone around her. How could she be so naïve, how could she not guess his plans! Of course! He needed to put her off her guard, feed her tales of obedience and patience for the good of the nation and push her to the Reich-approved marriage with a Coburg. Bravo, bravo, John Smith! Bloody Nazi.

Tears of fury and despair welled up in her eyes.

“Well, it won’t work! Do you hear me, Louise, it won’t work! I am not going to play by his rules!”

“Calm down, your majesty. You need to keep a cool head right now. You must come out to welcome the guests in all splendor of your beauty and dignity and show no emotions. If Smith suspects anything, if he finds out whose fault it is that his plans failed…” Lehzen let out a ragged sigh and looked into Victoria’s eye urging her to understand. “My life isn’t worth a penny to them…”

“You have nothing to worry about, no one will find out, I promise!” her voice was firm — the queen composed herself again. “I’m ready. We’ll see whose rules this game will follow.”

 

***

The great throne room and the suite of state rooms leading to it were filled with the voices of elegantly dressed people. The queen stopped for a moment before the mirror door. She waited for her breath to even out, put a stray strand of hair back into its place, lightly bit her brightly painted lips and proudly jerked her delicate chin up. Lord Steward announced her, saying her name and many titles that were now mere words, and she bravely stepped forward to face the guests who fixed their searching stares on their young monarch.

“What is the point of this farce if they all know that we are only puppets in the Nazis’ hands?” she thought every time another representative of the British elite bent over her hand to express their allegiance to the Crown. The few foreign guests greeted the queen of Britain. Black and white dress tunic adorned with swastika and insignia of the Reich’s general officers were so out of place in the sea of impeccable black suits and gorgeous evening gowns. The queen had not invited those guests — they were Prefect Smith’s placemen.

Uncle Sussex and her English cousin George greeted her and took their rightful — by precedence and royal blood — place by the old-fashioned velvet armchair with a hastily embroidered monograph V & R that remotely resembled the throne of her ancestors. Her mother the dowager duchess, her ladies and faithful Lehzen completed the picture. The reception started with the routine introduction of guests and ambassadors who had recently arrived in London. Tall, elegant and not dressed in his usual SS uniform, the prefect managed to avoid the unnecessary ceremonial trappings — expertly and not without a flourish — and emerged next to Victoria as she was walking to the throne. The black tailcoat fit him like a glove, and the War Merit Cross complete with the swastika and swords rested under the collar of his snow-white shirt as a tie substitute.

He seemed completely different, as if he had lifted slightly his impenetrable formal mask. For a minute, Victoria even forgot about what Lehzen had told her — his brazen lie, her anger that still didn’t allow her to focus on her surroundings. He was the embodiment of mature male charm now, and the classic features of the handsome face vaguely reminded her of someone again…

“May I salute you, ma’am, on behalf of the Greater Reich and congratulate you on the splendid organization of this historic reception?” Smith’s voice pulled Victoria back into reality. He had said it without an ounce of irony, tilting his head in greeting. Any rubberneck would have to strain their ears pretty hard to make it out.

John was towering over the queen, and the crowd around them seemed to have suddenly dispersed. They stood practically alone in the center of the room under the curious stares of everyone. Victoria smiled politely, bravely looking right into his face, and resolutely held out her small hand. Smith bowed, his lips brushing the satin glove. When he straightened his back and impassively wished her majesty to have a pleasant and productive evening, Victoria saw the mischievous sparks dancing in his eyes… Or was it just her imagination?

The tension of the ceremonial part gave way to the festive ease of the buffet reception. A flute of champagne in her hand, she stood surrounded by aristocrats, trying to keep up the conversation. John was never particularly fond of the moth-eaten beau-monde who kept showing off their fancy titles that didn’t mean a thing now. He would be happy to chase this horde away. But no, let her take in the attention from her subjects, let her feel like a queen, like a grown independent person capable of making her own decisions and taking the responsibility for them. He wouldn’t meddle tonight; it was enough to keep abreast of things, to remain unseen watching the progress of the reception and sending the right people to talk to her.

She understood her task when he convinced her that a celebration of her coronation was necessary. The authority of the Crown has to be the pillar of the Reich’s regime in Britain. Their little arrangement should work to their mutual benefit. John said to himself that everything was under control and the unfortunate delay in the Coburgs’ arrival wouldn’t get in the way of his strategic plans for this evening. Despite his seeming tranquility, he was rather tense and extremely mindful of every gesture and movement in the room.

Nicole, a strikingly beautiful blonde, a talented documentary director and daughter of a high-ranking Berlin colleague of John’s, had been blatantly flirting with him for the past fifteen minutes, taking advantage of their passing acquaintance in Berlin. It was her first time in London; she was accompanying her father, and the spectacle of the coronation reception was a novelty even to her. Nicole lived in a small world of German bohemians and high-ranking Reich officials, and today’s event gave her a chance to see the British elite with her own eyes and continue the acquaintance with the dangerous but oh so magnetic Oberst-Gruppenführer. It turned out to be very convenient for Smith as well. Pretending to be taken with the young woman’s charming prattle, he could listen and take in everything around him without drawing unnecessary attention to himself. Meanwhile, plans to shoot a new film about the hero of the Reich thrown by some quirk of fate into Britain were already brewing in Nicole’s pretty head — this would be the perfect opportunity to take their interaction to a new level.

John glanced at the queen from time to time, admiring the delicate, if a little petulant, beautiful curve of her lips, imagining again how sweet it would be to wipe the bright ruby paint off her innocent face with a deep lingering kiss… He gave himself a mental slap. Surely, it was just the lack of female companionship — he hadn’t been intimate with a woman for a few months, since the painful separation from Helen, no casual dalliances, no dates.

The memories of the past life flooded him, their stinging echo bruising his heart. He couldn’t afford absent-minded fantasies right now. He would deal with this later.

Looking over the slender figure of the woman of the hour in her elegant evening dress, John noticed fear and animosity in her eyes and her gestures whenever anyone from the German prefecture approached her. God damn it, she was so bad at hiding her emotions!

“Stubborn little thing playing with fire… Why are you in my life? You don’t know what suffering is, you don’t know the animal fear of losing everything overnight. You didn’t see as much blood and tears as I had to. How do I tame you, how do I make you more subtle, more devious, how do I teach you to hide your thoughts under a mask of cold detachment?” he thought willing his lips to smile for Nicole.

When the flow of social smiles and perfunctory pleasantries between the queen and distinguished guests subsided, Victoria finally made out the familiar tall figure across the room — and realized that John Smith’s full attention was on the impressive tall blonde who clearly flirted with him, twisting a honey-golden strand of hair around her index finger in a rather playful manner.

The queen asked one of her ladies to follow her and made her way to the group of young people who looked like they were not exactly comfortable at the magnificent function. Recent Saint Martins graduates, whose project for the reconstruction of the damaged wing and the adjacent park had won the competition, made awkward bows and ducked equally awkward curtsies. She greeted them sincerely. People of her own age, a bit of informal conversation — this was truly a breath of fresh air in the stifling room.

Victoria heard fluent German from somewhere to her side and realized that she was now standing close to the prefect and his conversation companion. Without turning her head in their direction, the young queen was surprised to see the smile on those beautifully shaped thin lips of his — he was smiling at that vulgar German who somehow happened to be one of her guests!

Stinging, bitter resentment towards Smith suddenly washed over her with such force that she nearly tore the fine string of pearls around her wrist. But it wasn’t caused by what she had learned from Lehzen earlier, not by the deafening frustration resulting from that information. All the thoughts and intentions she had been going through in her head only a minute ago vanished, dissolved by a stronger, more violent, frightening feeling. He had never… NEVER looked so softly, so intently, with this mischievous caressing squint in his eyes, at _her._

She wondered what terrified her more, knowing that she would never be able to trust John Smith or knowing that he would never look at her the way he was looking at that gorgeous stranger now.

 _You are not just hurt, it’s more than that. You have to admit it to yourself…_ The last desperate attempts to appeal to her common sense failed as she realized that it was jealousy. Absurd, ferocious, childish jealousy. She was jealous of _him_ , SS-Oberst-Gruppenführer John Smith, Führer’s governor in London, the enemy of her people, the man for whom she was only a screen covering the policy of his bloody empire, the man whose eyes she kept seeing in her restless, confused, sick dreams…

No! It’s unnatural, it’s wrong. Enemies are to be hated!

A lump in her throat, tears in her eyes, she wanted nothing more than to run away, to escape from this room, to hide in the darkest corner of the palace and cry her heart out. She downed the second flute of champagne from a passing tray, and that was most definitely a mistake. Drifting in a drowsy daze, Victoria felt someone carefully take her hand and turned to see a pair of strangely familiar ultramarine eyes on a pale well-groomed face. It wasn’t a second later that she recognized the man in front of her, childhood memories helpfully flooding her mind.

“Albert!”

“Victoria.”


End file.
